Getting Used to It
by partiallyyours
Summary: Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes have something to get used to.
1. Chapter 1

It was going to be a bad day. Yesterday, Mrs. Hughes had caught Mr. Carson with his face curled in pain four times. More in one day than she could ever remember. His knees gave him misery, and she knew he would be exhausted and irritable today. She'd made a few remarks in the past, but he'd made it clear that it wasn't going to be a topic of conversation between them.

So she was caught unaware when he sat down with a sigh later that evening and said, "I'd like to discuss something with you, Mrs. Hughes."

"That sounds rather mysterious," the unflappable woman responded.

"I'm sure it does not surprise you to know that I have been having increasing trouble with my knees."

She inclined her head slightly to indicate her agreement.

"I'm sure it also does not surprise you to know that I have never before considered leaving Downton."

She frowned at this. He was right. She had assumed he would live and die here, as he'd mentioned once before. Retirement was for the wealthy. The working class did not simply stop working when the mood struck them. They worked until they could work no longer. And then one might be taken care of by family. Those with no family might have been looked after by a benevolent employer. Often, they were not. There were poorhouses and workhouses for a reason. Most of the workforce made just enough to live on. Certainly not enough to set aside for a later time in their life when they'd like to sit comfortably in leisure. But his statement indicated that something had changed. A sensation that she could not quite describe as panic settled in her limbs, making them heavy.

He was leaving.

She didn't respond to his last comment. She waited for him to continue.

"I can no longer continue with my duties as butler." He would have sounded calm and contained to anyone in the world but her. She could sense the underlying distress in his voice.

"It pains me to tell you this, Mrs. Hughes, and I know you will tell no one else, but I nearly fell the other day when my knee locked up. I'm sure it does not need to be said how important it is to me that I not embarrass the family in any way." He looked to her then, his face showing an unusual desire for her to grasp his meaning.

She swallowed and said softly, "I understand."

He nodded with relief but his face still showed his pain.

"It is time for me to leave Downton," he stated firmly.

She sat further forward in her chair and took a breath to begin her questions. He stalled her by placing his hand in the air.

"I have plans." He stopped and glanced at her to be sure she was listening. She nodded impatiently. "On the advice of a visitor to Downton years ago, I made some investments which turned out to be rather good ones. I have enough on which I can live comfortably, without assistance from anyone."

Relieved, she let out the breath she'd been holding.

"I know that it will be difficult to leave here, and I will miss everyone. But Lady Mary is settled now with her new husband. And there will be plenty of highly qualified butlers from whom to choose, now that the war has seen to the dissolution of many of our great estates." He shook his head sadly at this. "I feel that now is an acceptable time to leave the home I have known for most of my life." He looked to her then.

She searched for the right words. "I will miss you, Mr. Carson. Though I am glad to know that you will be safe and comfortable." It was not as difficult as she might have thought to say these words of goodbye to him. It pained her, certainly, but she'd had nearly a lifetime of practice to hide her emotions. It was one of the foremost duties of a servant. Now he sat forward in his chair and his face flickered an expression that indicated he had something further, something uncomfortable, to say.

"Mrs. Hughes. I'd like to put forth an idea to you. If it causes you any discomfort, you must say so and there will be no ill feelings between us, I promise you." Managing to sound slightly rehearsed but sincere as well, he waited.

"Go on," she said, curious.

"Only I wondered," his gaze went to the floor between them, "if you might be at all happy to come with me."

At her silence, he dared to look at her face. She looked for all the world as though she had not heard him. Her expression remained unchanged and she stared at him, unblinking.

He hurried on, "I am able to provide for us both, quite comfortably, in fact. I've done the figures," he glanced at his desk as though he were about to get up and show her.

She shook her head slightly and held up her hand to stop him from rising. Instinctively, she sensed that she needed time to think about his offer. Questions pummeled her brain. What did this mean? Was he asking her for her hand? Did he love her? That was unlikely, as he'd never mentioned anything before. Did he want her as nursemaid? Simply a companion?

Then, in an instant, it didn't matter. Suddenly, the idea of leaving work and being with this man was overwhelmingly appealing. She'd simply never thought of it as a possibility, because until this moment, it wasn't. And so she knew immediately that, in fact, she needed no time at all.

"Yes," she said simply. Softly. "Yes, I would like that very much." She paused for a moment to appreciate his shocked face. "Thank you for asking me, Mr. Carson."

His face showed that he couldn't quite believe this turn of events. In a tone that sounded as though he were explaining a situation to someone who couldn't quite grasp all the negatives, he said, "We'll be married, then…"

"Well, I hoped you weren't asking me to live with you unmarried," she said easily, wearing a smile.

He let out a breath and, with a smile, exclaimed, "Well! I must say I didn't expect…" He looked at her then. "Mrs. Hughes," he turned to her fully. "Thank you. Thank you for accepting. I will make you as happy as I am able." His grave sincerity brought tears to her eyes that she hoped he didn't see.

"Thank you, Mr. Carson," she was just able to whisper. "I will do the same."

He wanted to take her hand, hold her, kiss her to show her his devotion to the vow he'd just made. But it was too soon. He didn't know what she wanted from their future together, but there would be plenty of time now to find out.

She was neither surprised nor disappointed that he showed her no physical affection that night. Not knowing his entire reasoning yet for his proposal, she would be content with simply spending her days with him. If he wanted more of her, she would give it gladly. Time would tell.

They said their goodnights much as they did every night, but neither was able to fall asleep as easily as they were used to. In rooms separated by a single wall, neither minded the excited wakefulness in the slightest.


	2. Chapter 2

Upon waking the next morning, Mrs. Hughes had the unique sensation of something wonderful waiting. It was that particular type of feeling that needed a few moments to unfold its delightful details. The memory of the previous night came back in a rush and she smiled widely, wishing for all the world that the many steps they would need to take before settling in a home of their own were over. Questions still swam in her mind. They all boiled down to one: how did he see their future together? She only knew one thing — that he wanted her to come with him when he left Downton. And that wasn't enough to tell her anything of significance.

But she thought that perhaps by the end of the day, she might have some answers. She had something to tell him and she wasn't sure how he was going to react. She hoped that his response to this piece of information might give her some insight into what he wanted from her. The fact that it did not occur to her to ask him directly was a reflection of the times. One simply didn't speak that plainly. Particularly to Mr. Charles Carson, who eschewed sentimentality in even its most innocent forms.

Going down early, she hoped to catch him before breakfast. And, indeed, he gave every impression of having been waiting for her in his pantry. He rose quickly when she entered the room. When she closed the door behind her, he frowned, concerned. While Mrs. Hughes had woken happy after a good night's rest, Mr. Carson had tossed and turned, afraid that her easy acceptance might mean an easy change of heart. His own heart seemed to find a new home in his throat upon seeing her expression. Clearly, she wanted to say something to him, and it wasn't about the linens.

"Mr. Carson," she began, looking down at her intertwined fingers.

"You've changed your mind," he interrupted.

Her head snapped up. "What? No!" she shook her head, taking a step closer to him. Wanting to reach for him, she instead clenched her own hand more tightly. "No, Mr. Carson," she smiled softly. "No, I haven't changed my mind. There's simply something I felt that I must tell you." She paused. "Something that might affect our future situation."

Relief made him light-headed. He managed a nod for her to continue.

"I don't know if you recall, but my mother's sister died almost two years ago now," she said.

He nodded slowly, the memory coming back to him. "Yes. Yes, I do remember."

"Only," she sighed and stopped. "She married well and left her nieces a sizable inheritance." Looking at him, he seemed to be waiting for her to continue. "Myself included," she hurried.

As realization dawned on his face, she went on, "I could have left work myself anytime, really...these past two years." She waited anxiously for his response.

He thought for a moment, then turned back to his desk and sat down with a sigh. He was quite torn. On the one hand, additional funds would mean safety and comfort for them both. On the other, if they married, her money would no longer be hers. She would essentially be giving her fortune to him. The idea grated against him so much that he felt the hairs on his arms stand up. Especially since theirs was a unique situation. They weren't young people in a love match. She'd earned her independence. Yes, he certainly loved her and hoped she might eventually feel something for him, but they'd never said a romantic word to one another. And a petty part of him had wanted to take care of her. Had wanted to offer her something that might make her feel some… gratitude perhaps? Something that might nudge her affection the right way? He was ashamed of these thoughts, but they were there nonetheless.

No. No, he simply couldn't take advantage of her this way. He shook his head and said, "No, Mrs. Hughes, I cannot accept —" he stopped, not knowing how to finish.

She cursed in her mind. It was exactly as she'd feared. His pride wouldn't allow it and he held no love for her that might change his mind. She'd expected it and had an argument prepared. She wasn't about to let something as silly as an abundance of money take away this chance.

"Mr. Carson!" she scolded as she stepped closer to him. "I hesitated in telling you this and your response was just the reason! If it hasn't been made clear to you already, I trust you enough to marry and live with you! I certainly trust you with this." She paused for breath. She couldn't look him in the eye as she said quietly, "Your proposal made me very happy." But she whipped her fierce gaze to him as she pulled out her trump card. "And I know you are not the type of man to break an engagement."

His nostrils flared at that and his chin lifted. She thought perhaps that, in addition to the indignation she saw in his eyes, there might also be a bit of happiness there, too.

Making a decision, he slapped his hands down on the arms of his chair and said firmly, "I apologize, Mrs. Hughes." He looked her directly in the eyes. "You must forgive me. It was just my pride getting in the way. I hope you do not take this to mean that I have had any second thoughts." He paused, trying to decide whether to say something else, something that might fully convince her. "This… idea has been on my mind for quite a while."

Surprised, she had to stop herself from saying something glib, something to take away the discomfort of the strong emotions she was having at that moment. Instead, she softly asked her shoes, "How long?"

"One year yesterday," he answered solemnly, standing to walk over to her.

She wasn't able to think of a single thing to say to that. She couldn't claim the same. She'd never even entertained the possibility of sharing her life only with him. Her eyes were wide as she watched him walk to stand so close to her that their toes almost touched. They stood for several moments, trying to read one another's thoughts.

There were so many things he wanted to say to her, but it wasn't the right time. So he settled on something innocuous, hoping she would hear affection in his tone. "Do you accept my apology, Mrs. Hughes?" he rumbled softly.

She was thinking about how easy it would be to wrap one arm around his neck and stretch herself up to kiss him. The clock on the wall ticked by slowly for a few beats before she shook herself and stumbled, "I'm sorry, what? Oh, yes! I mean, yes of course I accept."

After giving her a satisfied nod, he boomed, "Good!"

Indicating the way to the door, he said, "Shall we? They'll be wondering what's been keeping us." He looked as pleased as he felt and she smiled up at him. She was just as confused as ever about his feelings for her, but it plagued her not one bit. Neither was she aware of his hand hovering just a few inches away from her lower back as he ushered her out of the room.


	3. Chapter 3

What followed was one of the busiest and happiest times in both of their lives. Announcements were made, plans were sketched, replacements were found and trained. They'd told Lord and Lady Grantham together.

"_Leaving, Carson?" Lord Grantham exclaimed._

"_I am sorry to leave, my Lord," he replied honestly. "But I can no longer carry out my duties in the way Downton and you deserve."_

_After a few moments of huffing, Lord Grantham settled enough to say what was expected of him._

"_Carson, I hope you know how sorry we are to see you go. But, I understand your decision and I appreciate your consideration for our family, as always."_

_Though he didn't know it, Lord Grantham couldn't have paid Charles Carson a higher compliment. He'd devoted his life to a family that was not his blood. Knowing that his caring was appreciated was the best possible payment he could have received. The tears shining in his eyes embarrassed him beyond words._

"_And we will of course offer you a cottage on the estate and help you in any way we can," he said._

"_That won't be necessary, my Lord," Carson tried to continue with the rest of their news, but Lord Grantham interrupted him._

"_Well, we insist on helping in some way, don't we, Cora?" he said, looking to his wife._

"_Of course!" she readily agreed. "You must let me do something, even if it's to help pick the window dressings."_

"_Well," Mr. Carson started, looking to Mrs. Hughes for help._

"_I'll be leaving with him," Mrs. Hughes stated plainly._

_There was silence as both Lord and Lady Grantham looked in shock to the heads of their household._

_Lord Grantham broke the silence with a shout, "What?! Why?! What on earth is going on downstairs?!"_

_Mrs. Hughes took an involuntary step backward at the sheer volume of his voice. Mr. Carson reached a hand to her arm while simultaneously stepping slightly in front of her. Fury was on his face for his employer to see. The rush of affection she felt for him as he shielded her was entirely unexpected. She was glad that she didn't need to say anything at the moment because it took her some time to get used to the new sensation. She'd always cared for Mr. Carson, but his proposal was paving the way for feelings, long buried and ignored, to surface. It would most definitely take some getting used to._

_Before the men could say anything more that they might regret, Lady Grantham took firm hold of her husband's arm. With one look at Mr. Carson's and Mrs. Hughes's faces, she instantly knew more than anyone in the room. They loved one another. _

"_Robert," she said softly but firmly. With her eyes, she implored him to be reasonable._

_And he was. He wished them both well and managed to sound vaguely sincere._

* * *

><p>They'd decided that they would make no more announcements. Knowing that the people upstairs would be gossiping about it, they were certain that one servant or another would figure it out in good time. If not, their replacements arriving would certainly do the trick. Though Mrs. Hughes did tell Mrs. Patmore and Anna directly. Surprised and thrilled, the two women wished them both all the happiness in the world. Questions were on the tips of their tongues: Are you marrying for love? For convenience? Has this been going on long?<p>

They were, of course, too polite to ask.

Together, Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes picked out their home.

"_I'd like to stay in the village, if it's alright with you, Mrs. Hughes. Just in case anyone is ever inclined to visit," he said with a smile. "Or if you'd prefer to be farther away, I think Ripon would be suitable."_

"_No, the village sounds perfect, Mr. Carson," she agreed amiably._

* * *

><p>Unable to get time off together, he'd gone to visit their prospective homes alone. In as much detail as he could, he tried to describe the possibilities.<p>

"_And that one has a nice fence round the front garden," he was explaining._

_She waited a beat or two before asking, "They were all two stories, then?"_

_He thought a moment. "Yes. Yes, they were."_

_She smiled kindly at him, "Do you think that perhaps one floor might be best?"_

_Confused as to why she would want a lesser home, he asked, "Why?"_

"_Your knees, Mr. Carson," she said as she tapped gently on his knee with one finger._

_He was silent for a moment, surprised at how dim he was and how very kind and thoughtful his future wife was. The almost electric sensation caused by her finger on his knee dissipated quickly after traveling the full length of his body._

"_Of course, Mrs. Hughes," he finally managed. "Thank you for thinking of it. Truly. I will try again another day," he sighed ruefully at the wasted half-day._

"_It's all right, Mr. Carson," she said, unperturbed. "Maybe next time we'll be able to go together."_

"_Maybe so," he smiled, looking into her eyes._

* * *

><p>And then there was the moment they were confronted by their staff.<p>

_The staff were all sitting down for luncheon. _

"_Is it true, Mr. Carson?" Jimmy asked, bursting with the verve of a fishwife in possession of a juicy piece of gossip._

"_Is what true, James?" he boomed in his most intimidating voice, knowing precisely what the young man was asking._

_A little bit of wind taken out of his sails, Jimmy continued, uncertain, "Are you and Mrs. Hughes leaving? To get married?" By the time he finished his questions, he was filled with confident glee once more._

_Mr. Carson stared Jimmy down until the smirk left the footman's face. Mrs. Hughes looked straight ahead, continuing with her meal, though she was the only one still eating._

"_Yes, James," Mr. Carson replied, jaw twitching. "Our replacements will be trained by the end of the summer."_

_The maids all seemed to inhale collectively, about to let loose with their exclamations._

"_Eat!" Mr. Carson commanded, his voice shaking the bell strings behind him. "You've all got work to be getting on with!"_

_It would have been difficult to explain to a person not in service, but their existence consisted of next to no privacy. Because of this, Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes were intensely private people when they could be. They both closely guarded their upcoming marriage and their future life together. Certainly, neither wanted to hear any questions from the young people's naive lips. So profoundly grateful that he had shut down the conversation, she risked giving him a small, thankful smile. His face completely changed when he looked at her and gave her a smile back. _

_Everyone at the table was flabbergasted._

* * *

><p>And after finding just the right home, they picked out their furniture. Others such as Anna, Mr. Bates, Mrs. Patmore, and Daisy helped prepare their new home while the housekeeper and butler were busy training their replacements and planning for the next part of their lives.<p>

"_But this will take up the entire sitting room!" he exclaimed._

"_There's plenty of room," she argued._

"_These larger pieces just don't make sense for a modest home," he was honestly confused._

_Visions danced in her head of the two of them, perhaps sitting very closely, on the uncommonly large pieces._

"_Our home," she paused to wait for the flush caused by that phrase to melt away, "is more than modest, as you know. And...I want them," she finished softly. There was nothing in her face to show that she was arguing, unhappy, or angry. And she wasn't. One of the things he loved about women, this one in particular, was their mystery. They always seemed to know just that much more than he did. They were always sharing secrets. And they always seemed to be hiding something wonderful just underneath their calm facades._

"_Well, alright then," he agreed, not upset about the decision, but clearly baffled._

* * *

><p>And after everything was as settled as it could be, there was the wedding.<p>

_The registrar was a kindly, white-haired man and he smiled fondly at the two of them as they repeated his words back to him. Anna and Mr. Bates were the only other two in attendance. The ceremony was short and it ended after the exchanging of the rings. There were several reasons why they had chosen to forego the customary kiss at the end: their desire for privacy, the fact that this was simply at the registrar's office and not in a church, and, most of all, if there was to be kissing _— _and neither was remotely sure at this point that there would be _— _their first kiss was certainly not going to be in public._


	4. Chapter 4

Her hand tucked into his elbow, they walked into their new home. After the initial thrilling newness of putting their coats and hats away in a home of their own, they sat at their dining room table and set about eating Mrs. Patmore's lovingly-prepared wedding dinner. They chatted happily about the few final things that needed to be arranged. If that chair might be better here, if the curtains in the kitchen should be lighter, if the set of china (which she had had to talk down from sixteen place settings to eight) should be put in this cupboard or that.

They didn't discuss the fact that they'd both put their things in the master bedroom.

Many of their trips to the house had been alone. It was difficult to leave the abbey at the same time. So she'd put her things in the largest bedroom, and, on a later trip, he'd done the same. Their talk grew sparser as they washed the few dishes. Total silence was heard as he dried the last dish and she took the cloth from him to dry her own hands.

It was completely dark outside when they both walked slowly to their sitting room with the overly large furniture. But they sat in separate chairs. Looking at the fireplace that contained no fire, they both felt like fools. It had been so easy to plan for and prepare a new home. Their well-honed efficiency and intimate knowledge of the workings of a household made the task pleasant child's play. Not so easy, however, was taking the risk of being the first to speak of their feelings for one another. Being so busy for the past few months had been a convenient excuse for pushing aside that most important conversation that should have happened long ago. And so there they sat, each entirely unaware of what was on the other's mind. The awkwardness was excruciating and they both tried to work up the courage to say something. Anything. But it was so very difficult. Years and years of not saying what was on your mind was not overcome lightly. Especially when there was your own heart at risk. And now, for better or worse, they were together until the end of their days.

She felt panic start to settle in.

What had they done? It had seemed so reasonable until this moment. No one knew her better than he did, but they were still strangers to one another. She'd no idea how deep his feelings for her ran. After three foolish months, she still hadn't a clue about what he really wanted from their marriage. Not knowing that his thoughts mirrored hers, she took calming breaths. She philosophically admitted to herself that nothing would be settled tonight, nor did it need to be. Plenty of married people slept — and only slept — in the same bed. It didn't have to mean anything. She rose and said as normally as she could,

"I'm off to bed, then." She started toward their bedroom. "Good night, Mr. Carson."

Concerned with having just the right amount of cheer in his voice, he quickly responded, "Good, night, Mrs. Hu — Carson."

She stopped. She'd already walked far enough past his chair that her back was to him. It would have been hard to say who was more disappointed. The very first time he'd called her by her married name — _his _name, and he'd ruined it. He cursed himself for a fool. He'd been so worried about how the night would go, it had just slipped out. In shame, he listened to her footsteps begin again and recede to their shared bedroom.

In a near panic, he thought wildly about what he should do now. He knew for a fact that he needed to give her time to get ready for bed. But how long? Ten minutes? An hour? His heart beat wildly as a new and terrifying thought came into his mind. What if she didn't even know his things were in there? After all, he'd put his things in that room after she had. At the time, he had pushed away the thought that she might want the room for herself and allowed himself to feel slightly pleased that she might want to share more than a room with him. Now, he felt bile rise in the back of his throat at the thought of walking into that great bedroom and her not expecting it. He sat stock still in his chair, his breathing was rapid, and beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.

In the end, he watched the clock tick by nearly an hour before pulling his stiff body out of the chair. There was nothing for it. He couldn't sleep in one of the other rooms, fully clothed. All of his things were in the master bedroom. He'd have to go in there eventually.

As a man walking to the guillotine, so walked Mr. Carson to the bedroom where his wife lay. His hand hovered near the partially open door. Should he knock? Say something? Make a ruckus before entering? What if she was asleep? The hot night and his nerves sent a trickle of sweat down his back. He pressed the door open slowly and it gave off no noise. Stepping quietly into the room, he saw her lying on the far side of the bed, her back to him. It wasn't clear if she was awake or asleep. As quietly as he could, he dressed for bed, noting that she'd opened the windows. Since the air was overly warm and humid, he was glad of the cross breeze. It was one of the reasons they had chosen this house. Situated snugly in the back of their home, the master bedroom had two large windows that allowed for a welcome flow of air.

Sitting down on the bed, he grimaced at the noise and movement. He prayed he wouldn't wake her if she was asleep. Slowly, he lifted the sheet under which she lay and joined her in bed. It was utterly foreign for them to be settling in bed for the night together. Her eyes were wide, for she was most definitely awake. She thought she would never be able to rest with him right next to her. However, the exhaustion of the day and their anxious thoughts made them both fall quickly asleep, back to back in the same bed.


	5. Chapter 5

He woke a few hours later, uncomfortably warm. Having slept in attic rooms for many years, they were both used to nights with the oppressive heat pushing down like a hot, wet blanket. Were he back in his own room at Downton, he would have undressed to his shorts and slept on top of a sheet after shaking it in the air in a vain attempt to cool it. Knowing he'd be unable to sleep under this sheet and with his night clothes on, he gritted his teeth and began unbuttoning his top. Moving smoothly, he didn't wake her. He threw a prayer to the heavens that she wouldn't be shocked or furious if she woke to catch him with his bare chest to the air.

When her eyes fluttered open, the darkness at the window told her that it was the middle of the night. Still half asleep and trying to get comfortable despite the humid heat pressing down on her, she turned in bed. And was confronted with the full, bare back of Charles Carson bathed in moonlight. Her eyes flew open. She tried to slow her suddenly rapid breathing by speaking rationally to herself in her mind. He'd simply taken his shirt off. It was the heat. He didn't want anything from her. He was clearly sleeping. The calm, smooth rhythm of his breathing eventually settled her own.

But then she started to wonder.

How would the skin of his back feel? Was it soft? Smooth? Would she be able to feel the hard muscles that had recently been on her mind? She began to construct convincing arguments. He was her husband, after all. And what would be wrong with simply brushing a hand across his back? She could always claim it was a sleepy accident. Yes, she could even pretend to be asleep, if it came to that.

Her face serious, she tentatively reached a hand toward him. When her fingertips reached his skin, he jerked as though he'd had a knitting needle driven into his spine. She whipped her hand back as he made the distinctive, quickly inhaled sound of a man woken abruptly. He turned quickly, supporting himself on his elbows. With sleep in his voice, he still managed to sound intimidating.

"What is it? What's the matter?"

Servants for most of their lives, they were both light sleepers. He was immediately ready for any emergency. Embarrassment flushed her cheeks scarlet and she squeaked,

"Nothing! I'm sorry!" He took in her alarmed expression. He paid particular notice to her one hand grasping the other as though it had been burned. Her throat locked up and she couldn't produce any of the excuses she'd had planned.

As the sleep left his mind, he began to understand the situation with crystal clarity.

She had reached for him.

Turning fully to face her, he leaned his head into one hand, giving the impression of being relaxed, though he could feel his heart beating all the way to his fingertips. She hadn't moved a muscle. With the hand not supporting him, he reached out to her and took one of her hands in his. Slowly, he brought that hand back toward him and placed it gently on the center of his chest. He left it there and put his arm at his side, making it clear that she could do as she wished.

She felt hot and cold at the same time. Unable to meet his eyes, she stared fixedly at her hand resting on his broad chest. After a few moments, she was able to feel his heart beating rapidly under her palm. He wanted her. Relief made her feel light-headed, but her nerves threatened to get the best of her. She watched her fingers spread open slowly. The hair on his chest looked silvery blue in the moonlight. And it was soft. Knowing that he must have felt the shaking of her hand, she began to move it slowly over his chest. He let out a harsh breath at her movements. She looked up then to see his eyes close. Bolder, she continued to explore his chest, daring to reach for a shoulder now and then. She noticed that he liked it best when she would softly caress his skin with the back of her hand, barely touching him with the tips of her fingers.

When he could no longer bear not touching her, he reached out and laid his hand on her hip. She froze to appreciate the wave of warmth his hand sent through her. Now it was her turn to close her eyes. He couldn't help but notice that the heavy, wet air had made her nightgown cling to her curves. Not able to take his eyes away from the profoundly arousing sight of the dip at her waist, he folded his fingers into his palm, deliberately taking the cloth of her gown with them. Over and over again, he curled and uncurled his fingers, inching up the gown little by little. Her labored breathing was the stuff of his dreams. When her thigh was almost completely exposed to his gaze, he stopped. He wanted to — no, he _had _to speak to her before they went any further. After months of uncertainty, he had to let her know how he felt.

He took her head in his hands. Waited for her to look at him. When her eyes opened, he smiled, love shining in his eyes.

"Elsie Carson," he rumbled. "My wife," he declared softly. Proudly. Happy disbelief was there in the few words. "Can you possibly know how much I love you?"

Instantly, she understood his meaning.

These were his vows.

Here. Tonight. This was when they would make their promises to one another. The words they had spoken earlier, words written by others, meant next to nothing.

Her tears fell onto his hand.

"Charles Carson," she could hardly speak past the lump in her throat. "My husband." With mischief in her eyes, she smiled through her tears. "It can't be half as much as I love you."

He moved his hand to the back of her neck. He pulled her gently, the anticipation of her lips on his causing him physical pain. He would kiss her and then lay her back carefully; explore her every curve, unveil her skin.

It was exactly what she wanted. She was more than ready to be delicately attended to by her husband.

Until they kissed.

Gentle thoughts were burned away in a flash.

When their lips touched for the first time, they inhaled sharply through their noses and flung their arms around one another, scrambling for purchase on unknown ground. After only a few moments of bruising kisses, warring tongues, and insistent hands, he pulled her roughly up to her knees. Eager to comply, pulling his bottom lip into her mouth so that she could run her tongue over it, she stumbled over her gown, the cloth tangling between her legs. He jerked impatiently at the gown, ripping it out from under her. He only took his lips away from hers long enough to whip the thin garment over her head. Instantly, he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her to his chest so that he could feel her breasts against him. When he wrapped a hand around one breast and grazed a thumb roughly across her nipple, she had to tear her lips away to let out a strangled, "Oh, God!"

He took advantage of her leaning forward slightly by wrapping one arm around the back of her knees and the other around her shoulders to put her down on the bed. When she lifted her arms up to him, he had to stop a moment to appreciate the sight of the woman he loved, naked, flushed, and reaching for him. Impatient and in no mood for stargazing, she lifted herself up. Wrapping one arm around his neck, she used her weight to pull him down. Kissing her once more, he lifted his body away only as much as was necessary to remove the rest of his clothes. When she felt his hardness against her for the first time, her body spasmed, anticipating him and pushing her hips into his. His inexperience worried him for a moment. He wanted so badly for this to be good for her. But his concerns vanished when she pushed her hips toward him and he felt the tip of him slide inside her warm, moist folds. Her body jerked again and she let out a guttural, short cry. When she'd moved, she'd pulled him in even more. He had nothing to worry about, he thought. Even without experience, their bodies knew what to do.

With his hands on her hips, in one smooth motion, he pushed into her completely. Almost coming right then, he fell forward to support himself with his arms. He needed to hold absolutely still for a moment. She held tight to him with her legs and tried her best to hold still herself, but she whimpered with every involuntary convulsion her body made. Without pulling his upper body away from hers, he began moving inside of her. By his third thrust, she was crying out almost uncontrollably. She put her hand to her mouth, mortified by her lack of control. He firmly took her hand away, trapping it against the bed.

"Don't," he ordered, a frown of concentration on his face. With an air of distraction he muttered, "I want to hear you."

When his words registered in her fevered mind, she thought wildly that she'd never known anything more erotic in her life than the low growl of her husband commanding her to let him hear her cries. She climaxed instantly. Her neck arched violently. One hand dug into his arm while the other clutched the hand that pressed hers into the bed. The low, long moan she was giving cut off abruptly as every muscle in her body contracted from the greatest pleasure she'd ever felt. Coming down, she trembled uncontrollably. His thrusts now were an exquisite torture. She was nearly shrieking in glorious agony when he shouted his own release, filling her. When he began to slow his thrusts, she experienced the previously unimaginable sensation of his seed leaking out of her. She came again, pulsing around him. He pushed himself hard into her, holding her hips tightly against him.

When their breathing had slowed and he was kissing her face gently, she began to weep. He pulled out of her and rolled to gather her up in his arms. He might have been terrified, but some instinct told him what to do. Not only that, he knew exactly how she felt. He'd been fighting tears himself. He gently pulled her hands away from her face to tuck her head against his chest. He murmured sounds of comfort and simply waited, stroking her hair. The experience of being held and cherished by this man made her wonder what she could have possibly done to deserve it.

After a while, she wiped her eyes, and said sheepishly, "I'm sorry. I don't know why —"

He cut her off. "It's all right. I know just how you feel." He gave her a crooked smile.

Her profound gratitude for the love of this man made her start to cry all over again. When her tears had finally stopped, she reached up to caress his cheek.

"I do love you, Charles. So much."

"Not half as much as I love you," he replied, cheeky and sleepy all at once.


	6. Chapter 6

Before sleep left her, she could sense something was off. With a start, she realized that she was completely naked, lying in a tangled pile of sheets. Daylight shone through the window and she saw that she was alone in their bedroom. She let out a relieved sigh and leaned back into her pillows. She wasn't at all sure that she was ready for her husband to see the whole of her naked body in the stark light of day. What she didn't know was that her husband had already spent quite some time seeing just that.

He'd woken before she did. He always had; back at Downton, he was always down first. One arm was flung above her head. Her hand was buried in the plait that had long ago given up its fight to hold in her magnificent hair. With a flutter in his stomach, he looked forward to the day when he would be able to see it loose. Mesmerized, he watched her perfect porcelain breasts rise and fall with each breath. Feeling silly, he nonetheless tossed off a small prayer of thanks for fair-skinned Scottish maidens. He gave a disgruntled look to the tangled sheet that kept his gaze from her legs. He didn't know how she could have been comfortable, but she was twisted sideways at her waist, giving him a fantastic view of her backside. He was tempted by visions of waking her with his hands on her bottom, then working forward to feel her sex.

But he was terrified of seeing her wake with regret in her eyes. He didn't know much, but he knew he should have treated her more gently their first time. He was ashamed of his lack of control. He knew she loved him and the thought calmed him somewhat. She would forgive him and he would do better. Remembering her eager response made him instantly and achingly hard. He longed to hear her cries again. He thought sadly that he should leave her be. What if he'd hurt her somehow? Perhaps she needed time to recover? With a misguided thought to make their breakfast by way of an apology, he quietly left the room, taking his day clothes with him.

Clangs and small crashes drifted to her ears. Rising gingerly, she had to sheepishly search for her nightgown. Slipping it over her head, she padded to the bathroom. And saw a mess in the mirror. Her hair was sticking out of her braid every which way. Sighing, she cleaned herself up and undid the plait to let her hair fall loose. She gave it a perfunctory brush and slipped a hair comb on either side of her head. A part of her wanted to get fully dressed and ready before she saw him this morning, but she simply couldn't wait. She desperately needed to see the expression in his eyes. Would be condemn her for her wanton actions the night before? Was he full of remorse for the decision he'd made? Few people these days had stronger feelings about propriety than Charles Carson. She suspected that ladies didn't respond to men the way she had. Her blush was fierce as she made her way to the kitchen.

His back was to her as he stood at the counter. Under his breath, he swore violently. The knife had slipped. Just as he noticed the blood start to well from the cut, he also noticed his wife behind him. He turned to apologize for his language and the words died in his throat.

She looked like something out of a fairy tale. Her bare feet poked out from the bottom of her white gown. The voluminous fabric seemed to float around her. It wasn't molded to her as it had been last night. But with the sun shining behind her, he could just make out her shape beneath it. Her high, full breasts widened the pleats at her chest. And her hair. Sweet Jesus, her hair. It was down, pulled slightly back on the sides. It fell nearly to her waist in soft, unearthly waves. His hands tingled with the desire to bury themselves in it.

"Oh, you're dressed," she said, uncertainty in her voice. She made a move to go back the way she'd come.

He shook his head with a jerk and he started toward her.

"You're hurt!" she exclaimed, rushing to him.

She thrust his hand under the running water and held it there for a few moments. With her concentration on his hand, he could gaze at her as he wished. Her hair was almost touching his nose. He tried to lean his head back casually to look at her backside, remembering how tempted he had been just a short while ago.

When she wrapped his finger in a cloth and held it there to stop the bleeding, he stared down at her bent head. _Why can't we be easy with one another? _he lamented internally. _If only she'd give me some sign. Something to show she isn't sorry. Isn't angry. Isn't hurt. I've no idea what to do with a wife. How can I possibly make this woman happy? She deserves so much better than I can give._

Her thoughts were much the same. _What is it about the light of day that makes everything we've done seem so shameful? Why won't he just hold me? Am I supposed to do something? He loves me. I love him. What the hell are we supposed to do now?_

When she took the cloth off and blew gently on his finger to relieve some of the pain, he had to do something. If only to stop from taking her right there on the kitchen floor. He bent his head to kiss the crown of hers. He'd fully intended to leave it at that, but the smell of her hair invaded his senses. He pressed his cheek to the top of her head and, with his uninjured hand, used her hip to gently pull her close.

Almost weeping with relief, she lifted herself up to wind her arms around his neck. Forgetting her resolve to be more reserved, she pressed herself hard against him. She found that her neck seemed to have some direct connection to her knees. When he kissed the smooth, white skin below her ear, she couldn't seem to hold herself up. Only vaguely noticing the change of weight in his arms, he pressed her up against the wall with his knee between her legs. She gasped and a tear did escape then.

Berating himself for forgetting his resolutions so quickly, he brushed away her tear and held her cheek in his palm. He tried to ignore how her hair fanned out gloriously against the wall behind her.

"Are you alright?" he inquired anxiously. "Is everything - are you - did I hurt you?" Burning shame at his actions travelled a fiery trail in his veins. To ask her these personal questions caused him great embarrassment, which truly confused him, considering how intimate they'd been only a few hours earlier.

"Oh, Charles. My poor man. Were you worried? I'm made of stronger stuff than that. You mustn't worry. Promise me. Promise me you won't worry about hurting me."

She'd been kissing his neck, jaw, face and lips throughout her entire speech, so he'd not really been able to concentrate on her words. He wasn't certain what he was promising, but he agreed wholeheartedly.

"I promise," he asserted strongly as his hands caressed her backside.

And he kissed her then. Trying to go slowly, he wanted to learn the shape of her lips. What better way than to map them with his tongue? He wanted to know what made her tremble, what made her legs weak. Could he possibly make her beg for him? At the thought, his hips jerked involuntarily into hers.

On a moan, she said, "Charles. Charles, turn off the stove."

Unthinking, he reached behind him to turn off the burners. _She's so wise. So wonderful, _he thought, unaware that he was among many husbands to disproportionately, but quite charmingly, extoll the virtues of their wives. Gratefully, he thought how fortunate he was to have stolen her away from the rest of the world. To have her all to himself.

The parts of her that ached for his touch were overly warm. She thought that she might go insane if he didn't make love to her right then. Not knowing how to get him to do what she wanted without shaming herself, she stammered,

"Charles?"

"Hmm?" he responded distractedly while he lifted the hem of her gown to feel her thigh.

"Will you - do you think it would be alright -" she cut off abruptly when he latched onto her breast through her gown. He'd caressed her breasts the night before, but there was nothing in the world that could compare to feeling of his wet, hot mouth on her. She could feel his tongue moving rapidly against her achingly hard nipple through the cloth and she began to slide down the wall, having completely lost the ability to control her legs.

He hauled her up and looked at her with darkened eyes.

"What, Elsie? What do you want?" he asked, his voice torn at the edges.

She whimpered helplessly and looked to the window.

"Daytime," she muttered. All her worries for what he might think of her throwing herself at him now, in the light of day, were there in that one little word.

"Silly woman," he smiled and pulled her by the hand to their bedroom.


	7. Chapter 7

His hands running over her body made it difficult to unbutton his shirt, but she managed. When she'd finished and he made no move to take the shirt off, she slid her hands over his shoulders and skimmed the fabric down his arms. Before it hit the ground, she caught it in one hand and carelessly tossed it behind her. He sat on the bed then, drawing her near with a thought of pulling her into his lap. But once again, he worried that he might be too rough for her. Faint memories of having promised not to worry came back to him. But that was ridiculous! Of course he needed to worry. As her husband, that was his sacred employment. An idea came to him and he became hopeful once more.

"Elsie?" It came out a bit muffled as he'd been nuzzling her breasts.

"Hmmm?" she murmured.

"I love calling you that," he said, sidetracked. It seemed very important that she know that just then.

She gave a little laugh and said, "I love hearing it."

"Elsie," he remembered his idea. "You know that I've never really — I've never been a husband before."

"I'm very glad of it." Her eyes smiled as she placed her hands on the sides of his face.

He was trying to convey his inexperience to her. He wasn't completely without practice, but when he thought of those few times, pressured by people he used to call friends, he grimaced. He'd been so young when he started on the stage. And those few, sad nights he'd been with women had been dark, hurried, nearly fully dressed, and altogether dismal. Nothing at all like the love and light he'd found with Elsie Carson.

He'd pieced together some knowledge from risqué photos and the ribald talk of his fellow performers. The things they'd mentioned...well, he didn't know if some of them were even possible, let alone normal. They'd certainly made it sound as though the women had enjoyed it, but what faith could be placed in such boasts, really?

"Elsie. There are so many things I — only I don't know —" He stopped. This was excruciating. "Will you swear to tell me, right away, if anything...hurts, or if you don't like — only I'd be easier if —"

Then she understood. Here was where his fears lay. Pleased that she could easily reassure him, she kissed him on the nose and said,

"Of course, Charles. I swear it. And you must tell me if I hurt you," she nodded encouragingly.

Relieved that he had her word, he made an incredulous face to show her exactly what he thought of her ability to hurt him.

"Oh, really, Mr. Carson? You don't think a little old housekeeper could ever hurt the great butler of Downton Abbey?"

He laughed and reached for her.

Impulsively; with a gleam in her eyes, she lunged at him, intending to knock him down on the bed. She was extremely successful.

He gave a shout of pain and reached for his back.

Terrified, she scrambled off his chest and cried, "Oh, no! Charles!" She searched frantically for the cause of his pain.

Then, quick as lightning, his face burst into a smile and he flipped her over onto her back.

One of his hands trapped both of hers above her head. His body pressed heavily down on her and she couldn't have moved a muscle if she tried.

"See?" he grinned.

Relieved, aroused, furious, and deliriously happy all at once, she shouted,

"That's not — you cheated!" Half-heartedly, pleased to have lost this battle, she pushed up against him, trying to buck him off. She pulled mightily at the hand holding both of hers, but it wouldn't budge.

When she furiously pressed her body against his, he moaned his approval and buried his face in her neck. As he tussled with his new wife, he thought about everything he'd ever heard about marriage. He decided that its delights had been severely underrated. He'd known that he would win this gentle wrestling match. Privately, he thought that his wife would have had a much better chance if she hadn't been laughing so much.

Her gown was already up to her hips, so it was a simple matter to lift it so that he could gaze upon her breasts. He'd been wanting to do something ever since he'd first put his hands on her. Her promise made him brave. She was still laughing, hardly able to catch her breath for mirth, when he leaned down and drew the rosy tip of her breast into his mouth. Her laughter stopped abruptly. He only lingered for a moment, paying rapt attention to her face and body. Her eyes closed; she moaned and opened her legs to him. When she thrust her hips up to him, he gave her other breast the same attention.

He continued that way for what seemed to be an eternity. Gently, he went from one breast to the other, pulling the now taut nipples into his mouth to suckle at his leisure. Her moans and whimpers gave him confidence and drove him mad all at once.

When he released her hands, she thrust her fingers into his hair. He pressed his lips against hers. Eagerly, she opened her lips to his tongue and he slowly explored her mouth. She'd never imagined that kissing would be like this. She'd imagined it to be more tame, less erotic. But there was no doubt that the way Charles Carson kissed was anything but prim. In response to her hips rhythmically driving into his, he laid his hand on her leg and unhurriedly let it wander toward the inside of her thigh.

She inhaled sharply, badly wanting to feel his hand there. But he withdrew and quickly undressed. He entered her slowly. She was right when she thought he was doing it deliberately to drive her insane. His plan was to make love to her slowly, learn what she liked, and bring her to the edge of her release over and over again, withholding it until she begged him.

It was a plan doomed to fail. When he lightly caressed her breast, she whimpered and pressed her own hand on top of his. Upon looking down and seeing her white fingertips on his hand that held her breast, he couldn't help but thrust strongly into her. Her cries and her hair fanned out beneath her made him pound into her, over and over, until he came, emptying himself inside her. When his body jerked in the last throes of his release, she arched her back with a cry, clutching his arms tightly. He could feel the throbbing pulse of her around him, and he thought he might die from the sensation on his overly sensitized skin. Trying to keep her as still as he could, he held her hips in a crushing grip. This restriction to her natural movements had a profound effect on her. The waves of her release were fading away when he grabbed her hips, forcing a second orgasm to tear through her. She gave a hoarse cry while she shook violently.

Breathing heavily, in awe of this woman, he rolled to his back, bringing her with him.

* * *

><p>Her one leg was thrown over his and she rested her arm across his vast chest. He held her tight to him with one arm, the fingers of which danced lazily over her bottom. He wondered idly if she was very ticklish. With a smile of smug contentment, he vowed to find out one day. When she let out an exhausted giggle, however, his smile faded. His mind flashed back to what they'd just done. His internal promise to be gentle with her, to treat her like a lady, mocked him. <em>Wrestling on your marriage bed, Charles? Honestly. <em>He was fairly certain he hadn't hurt her — she'd promised to tell him, after all. But he was ashamed once again. He had to let her know that he couldn't think more highly of her. That she deserved the most reverential treatment. He bit his lip. But he didn't want to stop what they'd begun. Her reactions to him and his body drove him wild. He was starting to become convinced that God himself had molded this woman just for him. If he lost her now, he didn't think he could live through it. But he had to say something.

"Elsie, you must let me apologize," he began.

She lifted her head to look at him in confusion.

"I've promised myself to be gentle with you." He couldn't look her in the eyes as he spoke. Instead, he focused on their hands, twined together on his chest. Unconsciously, he started to toy nervously with her fingers.

She made a face to show her surprise. She didn't think he noticed.

"I've broken my promise more than once now." His embarrassment and shame knew no bounds as he talked of these forbidden things.

"I know," he coughed lightly, stalling for time as he searched for the right thing to say to make her feel safe, "I know that I shouldn't….ah...bother you so much. That I should let you be. I'll try my best, Elsie, I promise. I want you to be happy."

As he finished this horrific speech, she slid away from him to settle on her back. A miserable feeling of distance growing between them made her desperate. Ever since last night, when she'd first reached for him, this was the sum total of her fears: would he think her...inappropriate? Someone to be ashamed of? Would her honest, innocent, loving responses to him drive him away in dismay and disappointment? From his words, she got the sense that he had a clear idea of what married couples did. And it wasn't what they had been doing.

What followed, whatever they said next to one another, would be the moment that would truly shape their lives. And she knew it. She made one of the most difficult and terrifying decisions of her life when she decided to speak.

"Charles?" she asked quietly.

One of her hands clutched the bedsheet to her chest. The other lay limply at her side. She stared at the ceiling while her tears fell, one after another. Alarmed, he reached for the hand at her side. She didn't even seem to notice.

Worried, he asked, "Yes?"

And softly, brokenly, hardly beyond a whisper, she asked her question.

"Do you think it's…very wrong…" she swallowed, "that I enjoy…" she searched frantically for the right words, "being bothered?"

Having said the words out loud seemed to suck all the breath out of her. Lifting a hand to cover her eyes, she only managed one silent, body-wracking sob before he pulled her fiercely into his arms.

"Oh, Elsie, no!" He tried to pry her hands away from her face. She still wept and misery engulfed him. _Stupid, stupid man!_ he chided himself. He quickly grew desperate and a lump formed in his throat. He could not have been prouder of his brave, strong wife. What it must have cost her to ask such a thing!

Almost able to hold in his own tears, he begged her, "Please, Elsie! Stop." He kissed the backs of her hands. "Stop, please! I love you. Please look at me!"

Finally, she met his gaze and he took a deep breath, praying that he would be able to say the right words.

"My love," he began brokenly.

She stifled a sob at the endearment.

"I would never think that. Ever. I swear to you. I just don't want you to feel that you have to — I just want — I didn't know if you wanted me —"

A wave of exhaustion came over her when she heard his words. She felt as though her emotions had been tossed about like a rag doll over the past few days. But she understood now. He was only trying to be gentlemanly. He wanted her as much as she wanted him, but he was trying to give her the treatment he thought that ladies deserved. She'd thought that it would be easier, but getting used to being married was turning out to be fraught with obstacles.

"I want you, Charles," she whispered, eyes red. "Always. And I don't want you to be —" she paused, trying to keep the tears at bay, "ashamed of me."

"Thank God," he whispered fervently before capturing her mouth in a bruising kiss. "I couldn't be prouder of you. My courageous bride," he smiled sadly, regretting that he'd made her suffer. He continued, "We are man and wife. Everything between us is right," he nodded firmly, as though just discovering a new gospel. When he saw her smile, he grew giddy. "If we want to hang from the chandeliers, then we shall!"

Her head on his chest, she laughed tiredly at that and said, "We don't have any chandeliers."

"Well, I'll get you some," he pronounced.

But she'd already fallen asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

He didn't have any intention of falling asleep, but her soft warmth resting against him so trustingly made him drift off. He woke a short time later in the best possible way. She was covering his chest with feather light kisses. Noticing that she'd been successful in waking him, she reached up and kissed him softly on his lips.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Carson," she smiled.

After throwing a surprised glance to the clock, he rubbed her back, still delighting in this new ability to touch her whenever he liked.

"I suppose we had better wake up for the day," he said with an exaggerated sigh.

"I'm starving," she said.

His stomach growled in response and they shared a smile while tossing on a minimum of clothing.

They muddled through making a meal together, laughing through their mistakes and taking plenty of time for wandering hands and questing lips. They both exclaimed over the exquisite meal, unaware that their mood and the fact that they hadn't eaten for many hours was giving the food its exceptional flavor.

When they were finished, she stood and kissed him on the forehead, saying, "I'm going to have the longest bath of my adult life."

He started to smile, but frowned as a thought occurred to him.

"You're feeling all right, aren't you? Nothing's hurting, is it?" he inquired, concerned, but no longer shy when discussing these intimate things.

"I feel wonderful," she reassured him. "I just want a long, lazy bath."

"All right," he said cheerily. "I'll clean up here," he paused, "and then I'll join you."

Quite suddenly, she lost the ability to speak. So she simply stepped over to him, leaned on the arms of his chair, and kissed him thoroughly. His hand caressed her bottom as she walked away to the bathroom, leaving him to clean the kitchen as quickly as he was able.

* * *

><p>He paused outside the bathroom door. He took a moment to be grateful once more for his new life. He knew without a doubt that he could walk into this bathroom without needing permission. And his wife, gloriously naked in the bathtub, would greet him with a smile, telling him without words that she'd been waiting for him.<p>

Which was precisely what happened. He rolled up his sleeves before kneeling next to her. She reached up a hand to lovingly caress his earlobe. He kissed the inside of her wrist before he reached for the sponge. Leaning her gently forward, he reached for the sponge and began washing her back.

She sighed and rested her head against her knees. It was heaven, feeling his attentive hands on the sensitive skin of her back. He washed her back with the sponge, then used the soapy bubbles to slide his fingers along her muscles, rubbing and pressing the moans out of her.

Her breasts ached and the throbbing between her thighs was becoming so strong that she had to press her thighs together to assuage the pain of it.

There was a world of things he wanted to do to her, to try with her. He found it difficult to imagine that there was a time in his life when there was anything more important than discovering what this woman liked. He pressed her back to lay with her head resting on the edge of the tub. He soaped his hands generously as she watched him drowsily. His hands were slick with soap when he firmly fondled her breasts, the tops of their pale globes just out of the water. Gasping, she flung her hand out of the water to grasp his shoulder.

Smiling, he left one hand on her breast and trailed the other down her chest and belly to caress the inside of her thigh.

"I want to feel you," he said. He was fairly confident that she would say yes, but the female body was very new to him, and he wanted to make sure that there wasn't some unknown reason to withhold his touch.

"Yes. Please," she murmured while trying to position herself closer to his hand.

Blindly, for he couldn't see through the soapy water, he carefully moved his fingers, listening and watching for her responses. She moaned low in the back of her throat when he traced her outer labia with one finger. When he slid closer to the top of those lips, she would lift her hips with a whimper, making him explore the area more deeply. There was a small, tight knot of flesh that made her yelp when he passed his fingers over it. He smiled in triumph when he found it. Until that moment, he hadn't been entirely sure that his old friends had been telling the truth about its existence. He concentrated his efforts there for the moment. He found that direct, firm pressure on it made her brow furrow, but when he would press on the side, she would nearly sob. And after several minutes of this attention, he began passing his fingertips lightly over it, first slowly, then with increasing speed. Her moans and cries drove him on. While he was an incredibly quick study, he looked forward to the time when he would be able to see the area he was attending clearly.

If he hadn't been wearing a shirt, her fingernails would have drawn blood at his shoulder. Afraid that he would stop, she felt that it was vitally important to say,

"I – I'm going to –"

"Yes," he whispered, almost groaned. "Come for me. Now."

She screamed her climax just as he bent his head take her nipple into his mouth. She had to thrust her hand under the water to clutch desperately at his wrist, begging him to still his hand.

After endless moments, her eyes fluttered open. When she was able to focus once more, she directed her loving gaze to him.

He kissed her cheek before stating gravely,

"That was the most beautiful thing I have ever witnessed. And I am a fool for not asking you to marry me the first day I met you."

Still feeling as though she were floating back down to earth, she held his cheek in her palm.

"I love you, Charles. Please don't be sad for one solitary moment. Everything," she sighed and closed her eyes, "is as it should be."


End file.
